Monster and Savior
by AgaruTomo
Summary: She doesn't know that she was saved by a murderer. She also doesn't know why she woke up in a strange hospital room. But Victor Creed saved her all the same, and now that he has, she's his. And he's not in the business of giving up things that are his, no matter who comes after them. Sabretooth/OC
1. Frail in the Snow

_A/N__: So I haven't posted anything in a long time, but psyche b. mused's story, __What the Cat Dragged In__, really inspired me and I've gotten really into this Victor Creed fic. Victor meets my character pretty much the same way he met her character, but I asked her if it was okay to post the story with that detail taken from it. There might be a few other similarities, too. I really hope she, and all of you guys enjoy this. It's a sort of mix between the movie-verse and comic-verse Victor, with details taken from both worlds._

_ I don't own any Marvel characters or any of the name brands that may be mentioned in the story. This is a Victor Creed/OC story. Enjoy!_

ONE:

Snow. Blinding snow. It was all she could see, all she could feel. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was something niggling at the back of Ayasha's mind, like she had forgotten something she _needed_ to remember. She could also feel the distant burn of cuts on her hands, one clutched to her chest, the other trying in vain to shield her eyes from the blowing snow. Her black braid was mostly undone, whipping around her face and neck. Taking a breath that burned her lungs with cold, Ayasha forced herself to take another step, then another, and another. She couldn't tell if she was wearing shoes or not; all her extremities were almost completely numb. Hell, she didn't even know what _clothes_ she was wearing.

She didn't know if it was day or night, or when the last time she'd eaten was. All Ayasha knew was that she was cold, and that she had to keep moving, that she couldn't stop for anything. She knew that she couldn't let herself get caught again. So she took another step, and another, unaware that her bare feet were leaving bloody tracks smeared through the snow behind her.

000

The smell of blood only reached the feral mutant because the latch on one of the windows gave way. The glass shook in its frame as it banged open, letting the snow rush in with the howling wind. The big man swore; he had been in the middle of a big glass of Jack Daniels in front of the crackling fireplace, immune to the bitch-fit mother nature was throwing outside. Swearing again, Victor Creed set the glass down, and shoved himself up off the massive couch. His unlaced boots thudded across the wood floor as he went to close the window. Then he paused, brows coming together slightly.

Blood was in the wind, a _woman's_ blood. The cold numbed most people's sense of smell, but Victor about as far from "most people" as a person could get. He let the wind snatch at his shaggy, dark blond hair, closing his eyes and opening his mouth to taste the wind as well as smell it. Yes, there was a woman outside, not too far from the house. Beyond the blood, her scent was that of someone who'd been stuck in the same room for a long time, someone who hadn't washed properly for a long time. There was also fear. It was numb and removed, like an afterthought, but it was still in her scent. The rest was hidden by distance and snow.

_'What the fuck would a frail be doin' out here in this shit?'_ he wondered, squinting out the window now. _'Fuck; what would _ anyone_ be doin' out in this?'_ Any other time, he would have shut the window and ignored any poor fucker trapped in the storm; why should he care if some idiot died? Victor gave a backward look at his tumbler of whiskey on the table beside his chair, grumbled a curse, and shut the window. He re-laced his heavy boots and yanked on his shearling coat. Not bothering with any other protection from the weather, he unbolted his front door and stepped out into the storm.

"Frail better have a fuckin' amazing story to tell," he muttered.

000

Ayasha heard shouting behind her. She almost missed it in the howling wind, but when it reached her, a jolt of fear stabbed into her chest. The man was still following. The niggling at the back of her mind grew more insistent, and she knew she'd forgotten something important. For some reason, she'd been made a prisoner, and she knew that she would do anything not to return to that. Even if it meant freezing to death. The shouting was getting louder, bits and pieces of unintelligible words carried to her on the wind.

"NO!" Ayasha shouted back, her voice catching in her throat and turning to a squeaking rasp. She started running, not knowing where the newest surge of strength came from. With it came more awareness of her body. There was pain in her feet now, numb and cold and heavy, but she ran all the same. She no longer bothered shielding her eyes, holding her arms out in front of her.

Finally, words reached her, choppy and disjointed. "Fucking no-good—cunt! Find you and—within an inch of your—!"

The rest was snatched away and Ayasha ran harder. "No," she whispered to herself. She felt like she was trying to run in sand; sand that reached for her feet and ankles with icy, biting hands. But she still knew that the pain was better than what was behind her, that room she had escaped. Her floundering movements were brought to an abrupt halt as she came up against something large and solid. What little air she'd had in her lungs was driven out of her, and she fell back, bracing herself for impact with the ground. Instead, she felt pressure around her wrist, and a hard yank on her arm as something halted her fall.

When the frail didn't try to get her footing again, Victor yanked again, pulling her up against his chest. There were fresh cuts all over her hands and forearms. His keen eyes could see the blood in the snow behind her as well. She was a little thing, her dark head barely level with his pectorals. When his arm cam around her back, holding her too him, she began to struggle, seemingly unaware of any pain in her hands as they beat weakly at his chest.

"Calm the fuck down, frail!" he said, raising his voice against the wind to be heard. "I ain't hurting ya." The girl seemed to sense the truth in him, because she stilled, and then sagged in his grip, body shaking with fatigue. He could feel her ribs through her shirt, as well as the bumps of her spine; she smelled unwashed and underfed, but there was plain relief both in her scent and her body language. She had buried her face in his coat, and was clinging weakly to him like a life preserver. Victor shook his head and laughed; frail had no idea how stupid she was being.

"I won't go back," Ayasha muttered stubbornly into the outer leather of his coat. "I won't, I won't, I won't."

Her voice was nothing more than a rasp, but he heard it all the same. Victor turned his attention to the scent of the man following her. He had the smell of a man who was impotent, angry, and in all likelihood someone who liked to beat on little girls. Granted, Victor was somewhat similar in the latter, but that didn't mean he was just gonna give the frail back. After all, she'd come onto _his_ land, so she belonged to him now, and Victor Creed _never_ shared.

"I'll give you ten seconds to turn the fuck around, and get the fuck off my property!" he shouted, seeing the shadowy shape come into view. Victor's voice was a baritone bellow, and easily cut through the storm. It was almost as if it scared the wind, for the bluster died slightly and vision cleared. The man that had been chasing the girl was dressed warmly, carrying a big flashlight in one hand and what looked like a knife in the other. He could smell the girl's blood on the blade.

"Not... going anywhere... without... that _bitch_!" the man wheezed. He was overweight and out of breath, pointing angrily at the frail with the oversized knife.

Victor bared inhumanly sharp teeth and laughed, a dark, frightening sound, but for some reason, the frail wasn't scared by it. "Not fucking likely," he said. "She don't belong to you, and you're trespassing on my property. Time's almost up."

The man moved forward, stopping when he was barely four feet from Victor. "I'm her legal guardian, and she ran away. I'm taking her back home!" Victor saw his hand tighten on the knife handle, and could smell his aggression.

Ayasha tried to stand up straight, clinging to her savior's coat and pressing as close to Victor as was physically possible. She refused to look back at the other man. "No," she said. "Not going back with you."

"Ya see?" Victor adjusted his grip on the girl, pulling his coat from her grasp and wrapping it partially around her, his hand moving down to her waist where her hipbones jutted sharply. "She's not goin' anywhere with you."

"She's mine, and I—!"

"Time's up." Victor's free arm lashed out almost faster than the eye could follow, clenching around the man's throat. His eyes bugged out, and he stabbed his knife into the thick muscle of the mutant's forearm. Victor didn't even flinch, snapping the man's neck backwards with as much effort as snapping a twig. Letting the man drop, he removed the knife, and lifted the frail up into his arms, her tiny body curling into the warmth radiating from his barrel chest.

"Thank you," she breathed, eyes closed and body starting to go limp.

"Never thought I'd hear a fuckin' frail say that," Victor muttered, turning around and heading back towards his house.

000

There was a folded blanket hanging off the back of the couch, and Victor wrapped Ayasha in it as he carried her through to the bedroom. He turned on the lights with his elbow, and dumped the girl on the massive king sized bed. She curled in on herself, shivering violently. Looking at her now, she looked more like a medical invalid than someone who had been starved. She didn't have the sunken eyes or dull, thinning hair of someone denied proper nutrition over a long term. She looked more like she had just laid in one place for a long time and eaten just barely enough. She had the darker skin, full lips, and slightly textured hair of someone with black parentage, the rest of her bone structure clearly pointing to strong Native American blood. It wasn't a mix seen every day, but Victor had been around long enough to have seen just about every ethnic mix there was.

The fact that she was wearing a soaked set of blue scrubs, and had bandages in the crook of each arm confirmed his guess about her previous location. But she certainly hadn't been in any hospital; she lacked the cloying scent of disinfectant and the sick. She shivered again, bringing him back to the task at hand. Putting one knee on the bed, Victor used his claws to shred the front of her top, and then to slice the waistband of her pants. She made a weak, pitiful sound that could have been a protest, and she lifted her lids to look blearily at him with brown eyes so dark in color they were almost black.

"Gotta get you dry," he grunted, pulling off the remains of her clothes. She had no underwear, but was too cold to have any concept of shame. He wrapped the blanket back around her, and yanked the covers back on his bed. Pulling her up with one arm, he tucked her swaddled body under the quilt. She looked even tinier in his massive bed. Victor turned to his dresser. He didn't have anything that would fit her, but he pulled out a t-shirt and returned to the bed. He sat at the head of the bed next to her, kicking off his boots and sticking his legs under the covers. Then he pulled her into a sitting position between them, putting her back to his chest.

"Arms over your head," he said, shaking the t-shirt in front of her eyes. She made a quiet noise and weakly tried to lift her arms. They had once been finely toned, but months of stillness had caused them to atrophy. Growling in annoyance, Victor lifted her arms for himself, putting first one and then the other into the shirt's sleeves before pulling it down over her head. He pulled off his own shirt, tossing it away and pulling the blankets up to the girl's chin again. When he pulled her back against him, she squeaked, connecting the shirt he'd thrown away to the elevated warmth against her back. He slid his arms under both her own and the borrowed shirt, putting his big hands on her bony torso, claws sheathed.

Normally he wouldn't bother with this shit. He was better dispositioned towards putting frails _in_ such a state, not bringing them out of it. But he wanted to know what the fuck she and the dead waste of skin outside had been doing on his property. And she couldn't very well answer if she were dead or half frozen.

He started rubbing in circular motions, and the frail tensed for a moment. But her fear of assault quickly faded as Victor's body heat continued to seep into her. It was actually disconcerting for him as all fear left the girl, and she leaned back, welcoming the warmth he provided. He paused for a moment, looking down. There was nothing but trust on her tired face, and Victor couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at him with that particular feeling in mind. Just how stupid was this girl? Couldn't she sense the danger? After all, he'd easily killed the man that had been chasing her. Even if he _had_ rescued them, most frails would have been scared shitless by him anyways.

But Ayasha wasn't afraid; for the first time since she'd woken up, she wasn't afraid. She felt safe enough to close her eyes, to lean back into this giant of a man with a furnace in his chest. She didn't even mind that his nails seemed abnormally long and and sharp whenever they made contact with her skin. The massaging of his warm hands was bringing her slowly back to life, and she didn't even care when they brushed the bottom of her breasts.

Victor couldn't help but laugh; a full, deep, gravely sound that rumbled in his chest. "Frail, if you were a cat, you'd be purrin'," he chuckled. He could have done anything he wanted to the weak little thing, and she wouldn't be able to stop him. He was a stranger, a _big _stranger that could kill easily. But the stupid little thing felt safe enough not to stop him touching her. She wasn't even uneasy.

He dipped his head and breathed in her scent again. The first thing he noticed on the closer inspection was that the girl was a mutant, like he was. Her body gave no indication of what kind; he'd ask her when she was a bit more removed from death's door. He continued his massaging, working warmth into her trunk first before moving out to the extremities. He only stopped to microwave a glass of milk in order to put something warm in her belly. He had to give it to her like she was a baby, holding the glass and letting her take small sips until the milk was gone.

Eventually, after hours had passed, he began to feel a little warmth in her skin. Knowing that most of the danger had passed, Victor laid her in the bed on her own, putting a hot water bottle wrapped in a pillow case on her stomach. She was asleep almost instantly, turning onto her side and curling into a ball around the warmth. He stared down at her, taking a sip of the Jack he'd retrieved from the living room. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn't exactly in the business of rescuing damsels in distress; he was much more familiar with being the one putting them _in_ distress. Rescuing them was Jimmy's thing.

Any other time, he would have gladly taken advantage of Ayasha's trust and weakness. But for some reason, the urge just wasn't there where this one was concerned. He was more curious about her. For someone who showed all the signs of having been in a coma she had put up a hell of a fight before she had run into him. He'd had to bandage her hands and forearms in several places; they were covered in defensive wounds. He'd also had to deal with her raw, bloody feet. The knuckles of one hand were beginning to swell under torn skin and a darkening, brown-purple bruise. Freshly woken coma patients didn't usually put up that much of a fight.

Victor sat down at his desk and turned on his computer, glancing over his shoulder at the little lump in his bed. The scent of a contented and peaceful female was not one he was used to. Even if they had come to his bed willingly, they always had some idea of how dangerous he was, and were never completely at ease. But this stupid little thing was lost to the world, breathing easy without any idea of what kind of man had saved her. Well, that would certainly change quickly. He had no intention on hiding what kind of man—some argued he was more of a beast—he was. Just because he'd decided to be generous for once didn't change anything.

000

When Ayasha woke up, she could feel considerably more than she had been able to last time. Every inch of her felt tired, like she'd done ten triathlons in a row. Just lifting her hand to rub at her eyes was an effort and caused significant twinging. She groaned, the shudder that went through her causing even more pain and turning the groan to a whimper. Memory snapped back with painful clarity, and she tightened her body, instinctively making her body as small as possible.

But everything was different. She wasn't laying on the lumpy mattress she'd woken up on the first time. There were no needles in her arms, tubes in her nose and throat, or the sound of monitors beeping in the background. She was surrounded by warmth, laying with her head on a massive pillow and body hidden under equally large blankets. Layers of them. Her fingers and toes were still chilled, but she felt almost human again.

She chanced opening her eyes. The dim blur slowly came into focus, and she blinked at what she could see from the pillow. There was a bedside table with a lamp and an empty glass on it, but nothing else. Beyond that was a desk with a dark computer monitor, tower, and keyboard on it. There were no lights on, but a dim natural light streamed in from a window between the nightstand and the desk.

Slowly, cautiously, Ayasha sat up, wincing as her joints creaked and protested. Her braid was still mostly undone, and she could feel her unwashed hair sticking up at odd angles around her head. She lifted a hand to it, and scowled. Though her mixed heritage had given her some leniency, her hair was far from easy to manage, and it had obviously gone uncared for for who knows how long. She tried to smooth it down with one hand, not quite trusting herself to stop using the other as support.

Looking down, she saw a multitude of adhesive bandages around her fingers, and gauze taped over spots on her forearms. She shuddered, remembering the man's knife. Fear sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach, and would have turned to full blown panic if she hadn't been certain that someone had taken her away from that. She could hardly remember anything from last night—_had_ she only been out for a night?—and she knew that there was no way the man with the knife would have brought her back to a place so warm and comfortable.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to recall in more detail. She remembered a deep growl of a voice, and big, warm hands. Her cheeks heated as she remembered just what those hands had touched. Easing back down, she pushed back the covers a bit, and looked down at herself. The men's t-shirt she was wearing was far too big, turning into more of a dress on her. Her legs looked like they belonged to someone else; her knees were sticking out more than normal, the muscles gained by hundreds of hours of bike riding diminished. Try as she might, Ayasha couldn't remember anything about her coma. _When_ it had happened... How... Her roommates would probably have filed a missing person report if she'd been gone as long as she thought.

"Can you walk?"

It took a lifetime of learning how to blend into a crowd and go unnoticed to keep Ayasha from jumping and squeaking in alarm. Tensed even more, she looked towards the voice. A man was standing in the doorway, one arm leaning against the frame. He was big, with shaggy hair and built of nothing but hard muscle. The light in the bedroom was too dim to see anything else, and the light on in the hallway behind him didn't help.

"Asked you a question, frail," he growled.

Ayasha sat up a little straighter. "I think so?" she whispered.

From the tone of his voice, he might have been raising an eyebrow, but she couldn't tell. "Well, c'mon, then. You ain't eating in my bed." He turned and started walking back down the hallway. She hadn't realized that she even _was_ hungry until he'd said something; in fact she felt like she hadn't eaten in days. That wasn't strictly true, but sh didn't think that liquid nutrition pumped into your stomach through a tube really counted as eating. She could smell food too. Her mind was still too foggy to tell her exactly what it was, but her mouth was already watering. Untangling herself from the blankets was easy enough, and she swung her feet—they were bandaged too—around to put on the floor.

Or at least she _tried_ to; the bed was a lot higher up than she expected. She slid down, her feet hitting the floor harder than she'd intended, making her hiss and grit her teeth in pain as the bandaged soles protested sharply. That only made her jaw hurt, so she forced herself to relax, and used the bed to straighten herself. She took one step, and then another. There was pain, but it wasn't anything worse than walking on torn blisters; she would manage. Continuing at a careful pace—she didn't quite trust her body to keep doing what she told it to—Ayasha shuffled out into the hall.

It was real hardwood under her feet, and the rest of what she could see—the walls bare of pictures or any other kind of decoration—had the feel of some kind of cabin out in the woods. The hall led out into a massive kitchen/dining room combination, but she failed to notice anything other than the thick table and chairs next to a peninsular counter. There was a steaming plate of food on the table, and the big man from before was sitting in one of the chairs, leaning back with a can of beer in one hand.

Victor looked the girl over in the better light. She looked even tinier than before, practically swimming in his borrowed olive drab shirt, the hem falling a few inches above her knees. It looked good against the dark, reddish, olive-carmel of her skin, the collar trying to slide off one of her shoulders. The way she half leaned, half held onto the wall showed a bit more of woman's figure, if a little bony for his usual taste.

Most of the anxiety and fear that had been in her scent was gone, replaced and dominated by hunger. She was trying to keep her attention on him, but failing miserably, the plate of scrambled eggs and thick slices of fried ham always pulling her gaze back to it. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, revealing a pointed fang. He pointed to the other chair, and she got a glimpse at his claws. "Sit," he ordered. The only reaction the frail allowed herself was a widening of the eyes before she hobbled over to the table, walking around the side farthest from him.

She let out a breath of relief as she sank into the chair, before her almond-shaped eyes got even bigger as Victor slid the plate over to her, the knife and fork on the edge clattering slightly. "Eat. Yer way too fuckin' skinny."

Ayasha's stomach growled loudly and it was all she could do not to drool. Oblivious to the twinging in her hands and wrists, she picked up the silverware. For a moment she tried to remember her manners, but they abandoned her the second the first small piece of ham was in her mouth. The knife was forgotten as she tore chunks from pieces speared with her fork, alternating between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs and gulps from the glass of water that was produced.

It wasn't quite the look of someone suffering from starvation in her eyes; she was still too aware of her surroundings for that. From the clothes he'd found her in and the smell of antiseptic, metal, general mustiness that usually permeated medical facilities, Creed guessed that the frail had been fed by tubes. And he didn't really consider liquid nutrition pumped directly into the stomach 'eating'. Plus, whoever it was had obviously done a shitty job. Her eyes were slightly sunken with dark circles under them, and her one exposed collarbone stuck out more than it should have, even for someone with her build. She only paused for a second when he chuckled before she continued wolfing down her food. Victor sipped at his beer in silent observation, her awkward awareness of him actually amusing. It had been a while since anything other than his prey's terror and blood had made him smirk this way.

There was something else that interested him too. A slight sharpness had begun in the air around him when she woke up, and had only gotten more noticeable when she came in and sat down at his table. He already knew that she wasn't any kind of psychic or empath; enough people had fucked around with his head for him to know when someone was trying to. The feeling wasn't anything like that. He waited until she had cleaned the plate and drained the rest of her water in one go before speaking.

"So what were you doin' on my property in the middle of that fuckin' blizzard?" he asked, voice a subdued rumble.

Ayasha swallowed and chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, brows pulling together. "Don't really know." Victor growled at her, anger flickering in his eyes. "I don't!" she insisted, shifting anxiously under his glare. "It's... it's complicated and... and fuzzy."

He blinked and raised a brow slightly, but the glare remained. "Fuzzy?"

"Everything is... hard to remember." She stared intently at the bottom of her empty glass. She swallowed again in an attempt to wet her suddenly dry throat. "Woke up with all kinds of I.V.'s and tubes sticking outta me," she rubbed the bandage in the crook of her left elbow, "and a bunch of monitors and screens everywhere." Fear was rising in her scent again, and the sharpness in the air around Victor was fluctuating. "Not sure how, but I got outside. I was in this big, walled-off parking lot; there was barbed wire along the top of the wall."

Creed sipped at his beer, staring at her when she looked up at him. She quickly looked away and continued. "There was an empty van running, but my vision was so blurry and I was shaking so much I knew I couldn't drive... Took a risk and hid in the back. Someone got in and drove it beyond the wall, but..." There was anger mixed in with the anxiety now. "Didn't realize how weak I still was, and I passed out. Woke up with that man yelling and trying to drag me out into that storm by my hair."

Her knuckles had gone tight and pale around the glass, and Victor could smell that one of the cuts had reopened and started bleeding again. "You fought 'im and ran," he finished for her. She nodded dumbly, and he took a swig of his beer, draining the can and crushing it like tissue paper.

"So what kinda mutant are you?"

That made her look up at him, brows coming together again and lip popping out from between her teeth. She looked awful tempting when she did that. "What're you talking about? I'm not—" He leaned forward and growled again, making her jerk back. "I'm not!" Fear quickly replaced the anger that had entered her eyes, but there was no lie there. However, the underlying tang in her scent refuted her words; she _was_ a mutant.

Victor's eyes narrowed. Her powers had manifested already, he knew that for sure. Were they so weak and useless that they had simply gone unnoticed? With the way that sharpness was tingling around him he wasn't so sure. He sat back. "Yeah, you are," he said, tone shutting down any possibility of argument. He tapped the side of his nose with a clawed fingertip. "Can smell it on ya."

"You can—? Oh!" Understanding crossed her face. "You're a feral?" she ventured.

One brow lifted again. "You met a feral before, frail?" He gave her a wide, toothy smile, still leaning towards her. She tried not to squirm under his gaze, and the predator in him stirred. He wondered what kind of sounds she'd make when his claws pricked her thighs, or when he bit at the soft, dark skin of her neck.

The glint in his eyes was making her even more nervous, but Ayasha answered him anyways. "My best friend growing up," she murmured. As grateful as she was, she wasn't going to drag people she cared about into whatever dumbfuckery she'd gotten herself into.

Ferals weren't exactly a rare class of mutant, but they were usually loners, or ran with a pack of a few other ferals. Those that couldn't pass for human—like Victor—were practically _never_ friends with humans, or in this case, a mutant that _thought_ she was human. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of the frail being friends with another feral. She'd shown up on _his _land; she belonged to him now. And even if she was still too fragile and easy to break for him to really enjoy that claim, that didn't stop him from getting pissed off at the idea of another feral sniffing around what was his. Even if she hadn't been his at the time.

A soft growl left him, and he took a deep breath, lids lowering slightly as he focused all of his considerable olfactory abilities on her. He was pleasantly surprised at all the information he was able to pick up on. Normally, it was just surface information that came through; wounds, general health of the body, recent locations, moods, etc. The rest was usually just little hints scattered throughout. His brows knitted; he'd never been able to read _anyone_ so clearly.

Mutant, born and raised in the city, but that wasn't where she'd spent all her time. She _did_ spend a fair amount of time around two different dogs, one a pittbull and the other some kind of terrier mix. She was older than she looked—between 19 and 23—and had exactly seven metal fillings. She had been in some kind of medical facility for close to eight months, but it hadn't been a hospital. The two people that had spent the most time around her were both males—Victor was already half imagining tearing out their throats—one white and in his fifties, the other Indian and in his late twenties. There was also a certain note in her scent that told him she was a virgin, but not completely inexperienced.

The intensity of his eyes never wavered. No one had ever looked at Ayasha that way, so she would've had no idea what was going through a _normal_ person's head, let alone Victor's. What she _did_ know was that the look made her blush, and her heart beat a little faster. The wary anxiety never lefty her, but the majority of her fear was slowly ebbing away. Her stomach was full, and she was in a warm—and _hopefully_ safe—place. The tension in her shoulders and jaw eased, and she leaned back into the chair, still avoiding Victor's eyes.

Now he focused in on Ayasha's personal scent. A strange mix of sweet, warm, and spicy, it wove through her anxiety and budding curiosity, hints of his own smell from the borrowed shirt hanging on the edges. It was a pleasant mix, and it made him wonder how she'd smell after he fucked her. The idea made his cock twitch. _'No, not yet.'_ She'd break too easily the way she was now, and he liked to have fun with his toys before he broke them. That, and he almost always took his time with virgins; it was far too much fun to watch them get all flustered and confused... or scared out of their minds... But for the time being, Victor kept the more bestial part himself at bay. At any rate, the girl's nervous trust in him was almost comical; it would keep him entertained for a while.

That left him with a rather pressing question. What was he going to do with her in the mean time? She couldn't exactly wander around the place in nothing but his t-shirt; he'd end up fucking her before the day was out.

That, and Ayasha's eyelids were starting to droop, her grip slowly loosening around the glass. With her stomach full, her body was going into full recovery mode. Victor may have saved her from the worst of the storm's wrath, but her body—atrophied and underfed—had suffered significant trauma. Before her grip got any looser, he stood and took the glass. She started, but he was already next to her, gathering her into his arms as easily as a sleeping kitten. "Don't need you droppin' and breakin' shit," he muttered, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees.

Ayasha looked up at him, brows furrowed. The manhandling made her a little uncomfortable, but the large, warm hand felt good on her back. "Sorry," she mumbled, letting her head lean against his chest. It radiated the same comforting heat that had saved her from hypothermia. She couldn't remember having felt this safe in a long time. "Thanks for th' food, too..." Fatigue was starting to slur her words, and Victor simply shook his head as he carried her to the oversized green sofa that stood in front of the large wood stove. He lay her down, leaving the room and returning shortly with a blanket and pillow.

He tucked her in, the domestic nature of the acting rubbing him every sort of wrong way. She barely took up half the couch, even all stretched out. For a few moments, he thought about getting another beer and sitting down as well, but quickly changed his mind. He had things to do, and his guest—another disgustingly domestic term—would be sleeping for a while.

000

Ayasha's dreams were disjointed but strikingly vivid. For what seemed like ages, the black and white transparencies of x-rays and body scans hung before her eyes, muffled voices floating at the edge of her perception, hands pointing and changing images. She saw needles stuck into her skin, blood drawn and liquids injected again and again. There was the pressure of restraints on her wrists, chest and ankles, and something was forcing her eyes open against a blinding light. She never moved or struggled, and sometimes there was nothing but darkness and voices.

She could hear every sound with perfect clarity, but somehow couldn't understand a word. The dream anxiety slowly bled into reality, and her body began to twist and thrash on the couch. Coming awake with a start, Ayasha panicked as she felt the blanket tangled around her legs, impeding her movement. A raspy, undignified squawk escaped her and she tumbled face first onto the floor. She was quiet for a moment before groaning into the thick carpet that had somewhat cushioned her fall. After several long, colorful, and obscene phrases, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees and sat back. There was a low orange glow in the large stone wood stove in front of her, a comfortable heat radiating out into the room. She could hear a quite humming roar of flames inside, but beyond that the house was silent.

It was dark beyond the windows, but there was a dim light on in the open kitchen off to her left. A short hall led to a foyer and heavy wooden door behind her, the latter probably leading outside. The hall that she had walked earlier—yesterday?—was slightly to the left of the stove. Everything else was dark, furniture casting shadows that flickered slightly every now and then in the firelight. It was nothing like the apartment she'd called home for the last four years, but it was comfortable. There wasn't much sign of it being lived in other than the lingering smell of ham and eggs that she barely remembered tasting. The dishes were still on the table, and her first instinct was to get up and take them to the sink. But she was halfway to standing when her knees began to shake, and she sat down hard on the couch.

She dragged a hand over her face. "Shit..." Plastic rustled next to her, and she turned. Three plastic grocery bags sat at the other end of the couch, and she leaned over to peek inside. Packaged women's underwear and socks were in the first. Curiosity made Ayasha pull the other two over. Both were filled with simple things like yoga and sweat pants, along with short and long sleeved t-shirts in a random collection of colors. There were also two plaid flannel shirts and a collection of sports bras in the bottom of the last bag.

Ayasha looked around, then rolled her eyes at herself. _'What, did you see any other girls around here without any of their own clothes or underwear?' _she thought, pulling out one of the packages of cotton underpants. Even though the clothes were, in all likelihood, meant for her, she was still hesitant about opening the package without it being directly given to her. She shifted to sit cross-legged and sighed. Going commando was fine every now and then, but she certainly wasn't about to go around a stranger's house in nothing but his borrowed shirt.

Ripping open a package, she selected a light green pair and pulled them carefully over her legs. The limbs seemed smaller than she remembered, and the size small black yoga pants she pulled on were almost too big. When it came to removing her shirt and putting on a bra, she paused. She felt like it had been months since she'd bathed herself, and the hair growth on her legs proved it. More than anything, she wanted to take a long, hot shower, but she doubted that her legs would support her enough for that. A bath would do just as well, and while it could have waited, her bladder was demanding her attention. A long-sleeved shirt and bra in hand, she got slowly to her feet. It took a moment before she trusted them with her weight, and when she did, she set out to find the bathroom.

000

Victor was awake the second Ayasha had squawked and fallen, and now he lay in bed, listening as she started shuffling around. It took her a little while to find what she was looking for, trying the two other locked doors in the hallway before she found the bathroom. She paused there, probably looking towards his bedroom. He didn't make a sound, and eventually she went inside, closing the door behind her. He waited until she had the water running before getting up and silently exiting into the hall.

The sharpness in the air had returned, and he breathed in the frail's scent, doubly amplified by the steam. Everything was as shockingly clear as before, but he focused on the surface. She was both nervous and curious, but those were only background compared to the excitement she was feeling, probably for the bath she was drawing. She probably hadn't had anything more than a wipe down in the last several months, so Victor couldn't blame her. He didn't mind dirt and grime—or more often than not, blood and gore—on his skin, but there was no denying the pleasures of washing with hot water.

Leaning against the wall, he glanced back into his room at the clock on the nightstand; it was a little after two in the morning. After he heard her lower herself into the tub, he left the hall, walking shirtless into the kitchen. First, he drained the last three-quarters of a gallon of gatorade, then got himself a beer. Then he returned to his place outside the bathroom door to wait.

000

It took Ayasha longer to wash and shave—she'd been pleasantly surprised by a package of women's disposable razors—than she would have liked. She had to be careful of her bandaged forearms and feet, and that threw a wrench into everything. But she managed. The water had been close to scalding when she had climbed into the oversized tub, but had cooled significantly by the time she got out, pulling on her new clothes again. She toweled off her hair and folded the borrowed shirt neatly. She would worry about brushing her hair and teeth later. She opened the door, and came face-to-chest with the feral mutant that had made her breakfast.

She quickly pursed her lips against a startled squeak, and squeezed the t-shirt to her chest as she looked up at him. Victor chuckled—a low, rumbling, and not unpleasant sound—and leaned in, putting one clawed hand on the doorway next to her head. "Scare ya, frail?" His voice was practically a purr, and that combined with the look in his lidded eyes made her already pink cheeks flush. She looked away, avoiding his eyes and tucking a stray wet tendril of hair behind one ear.

"A little," she grudgingly admitted. Then she held out his shirt with both hands. "Thank you... for letting me borrow it. And for the other clothes." Her feet shuffled in a clean pair of socks and she pulled at the hem of her shirt. Victor stared down at her, knowing that she was aware of his gaze. He'd guessed at her size, and everything seemed to fit her alright. Reaching out, he took hold of his shirt. Ayasha quickly dropped her hands and tried to move past him. But he had made sure to stand just close enough so that she had to brush against him as pushed nervously by.

He was just as warm as she remembered, and that combined with the chill of her damp hair rose goose bumps on her arms and legs, and for half a moment, she almost wanted to lean into him. Then she was past him and the urge faded. Victor watched her go, and lifted the shirt to his nose. Her warm, spicy scent greeted him, and he surprised himself by letting out a low rumble of appreciation. It had been a long time time since anyone's scent had appealed to both sides of him; both man and beast. Then he heard more water running, and the clink of dishes, and followed after the frail, hanging the shirt over one broad shoulder.

Sure enough, he found her rinsing yesterday's dishes in the sink. She had her sleeves rolled up, and was _trying_ to to keep the bandages on her hands and forearms dry; she wasn't doing too well. Victor was behind her without a sound, big hands engulfing her wrists and making her drop the sponge and fork she'd been holding. He felt her little body go rigid between his chest and the counter. "You tryin' to put all that time I spent patching you up to waste, frail?" he growled quietly in her ear, his claws just barely pricking the skin of her wrists.

"N-no!" she squeaked. "I-I just—" Her voice cracked and anxiety spiked in her scent, but she wasn't stupid enough to start thrashing and struggling.

"You just what, frail?" His stubble tickled her ear and she shivered. But there was a good deal more to her scent than anxiety and fear. She seemed to be more flustered at being pressed and held so close. It was strange for him, and he drank in the uncommon scent. There was usually nothing but terror in a frail's scent when he was this close.

"I—I just didn't want to leave a mess," she said, trying to hide the hitch in her breathing. It had been a long time since she'd this close to another body, and heat prickled where his chest touched her back.

Victor chuckled. "Think I can't clean up after myself?" His chin was resting lightly on her shoulder, and he could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers in her wrist.

"No! But you were feeding me..." Ayasha trailed off into silence, her tone reminding Victor of a dejected puppy's whine. She straightened and turned slightly, looking curiously up at him. Then, something akin to a smile danced quickly across her eyes, gone almost before it could be noticed. "Thank you."

Victor blinked and pulled himself up to his full height; she didn't break eye contact. He wasn't used being thanked or to looks of genuine curiosity. He released her wrists but stayed where he was, keeping her pinned against the counter. She pursed her lips and looked up at him almost indignantly. She wasn't sure she liked being called 'frail' all the time. Granted, she was feeling _far_ from robust, but still... The stubborn indignant look was enough to make Victor laugh again, and he turned off the water before taking a step back.

She turned to face him, opening her mouth to ask him just why the hell he kept calling her that. Then she realized that she'd probably never actually given him her name. "My name's Ayasha," she offered.

The feral considered her in silence for a few moments. "Victor Creed." She was his, he saw no harm in what was his knowing his name.

"Thank you again, Mr. Creed," she said.

He almost laughed again. No one ever said "thank you" to Victor _fucking _Creed and and actually _meant_ it. No one was ever actually _grateful_ to him... Except her. This dark little frail was thanking him, and she meant every fucking word. Part of him wanted to show her that she should be _scared_, not grateful; to show her how completely stupid she was being. But it also amused him. How long before the observant little thing realized just how dangerous he was? What sense city life had given her had already kept her slightly wary of him. He scoffed, and retrieved his beer from where he'd set it on the table before going over to the couch. The fire wouldn't need another log until later in the morning, and there wasn't much point in going back to bed now that he was awake.

"You gonna stand there all night or you gonna sit down?" He put the bags of clothes on the floor and pointed a claw to the spot beside him.

The color stayed high in Ayasha's cheeks, but she complied with her host, walking over and sitting back down on the couch; if a little farther from him than he had indicated. He gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing. She hugged her legs up against her chest, resting her chin on her knees and resiting the urge to stare at him. Victor had let his usually close-cropped hair grow, but kept his mutton-chop sideburns and stubble beard much the same. He'd gone into business for himself years ago, and hadn't seen much point in keeping the military cut. He was also well aware that the shaggy, wild look made him appear all the more intimidating. Not that he really needed an edge in that department. Being well over six feet and being made of over three-hundred pounds of hard muscle, claws, and fangs did just fine.

Ayasha _knew_ that she should be more scared of him. Everything about him clearly spelled out danger and violence. But he had _saved_ her; _protected_ her from the man who had wanted to drag her back to the room with the machines and tubes and needles. Fear rolled down her spine like ice water at the thought, and she turned instantly into a quivering ball of tension, jaw clenched and her overgrown nails digging into her legs.

The sudden stench of her fear practically slapped Victor in the face, overloading his nose for a moment. He turned his full attention to the frail. Usually, being in such a state would have been normal for a woman in close proximity to him. But _this_ girl's fear and anxiety had _nothing_ to do with him. He knew the look in her eyes. You didn't fight in as many wars as he hand and not learn to recognize that look on a person's face. It was pure terror born from vivid memory. He knew that Jimmy—Logan, now—would have tried to comfort her in his rough, awkward way. Victor didn't know shit about that. He was much more comfortable with putting women _in need_ of comforting.

But the frail's scent was overpowering, almost strong enough to make his eyes water. He couldn't just get up and leave either; he knew the smell would follow him and fill the whole house. Growling his annoyance, Victor grabbed Ayasha by the arm and pulled her over to him. She cried out and started to thrash, her mind turning to fight or flight. Her flailing did about as much good as a moth with wet wings. "You're fine." It was all he said—all he was going to say—but for some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, the words reached through Ayasha's panic and found her, dragging her back to herself. She stilled, her ear against his bare chest.

_Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

Everything but the strong, steady beat of Victor's heart faded away. The steady rhythm became her whole world, and her hand lifted to rest on his naked ribs.

_Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

_ Thu-thump._

She could feel the hair on his chest tickling her cheek, and his clawed hand resting on her shoulder. The heat of the fire returned to her face, as well as the cool dampness of her own hair. The world came back in large chunks after that, and Ayasha let out a shakey breath, closing her eyes.

The silenced stretched out, and Creed relaxed his arm around her. A frail calming down _because_ he touched her? An incredulous half smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. It seemed that there really _was_ a first time for everything. Not that it would last... He decided that he liked the way she felt resting chastely against him, and it seemed she liked it to. He never thought he'd find himself really enjoying anything remotely chaste to do with a woman. Ayasha's scent cleared and sweetened with relaxation, tension leaving her body bit by bit.

Eventually, Ayasha opened her eyes and lifted her head. "Thanks," she muttered sheepishly, She made to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her. She looked at him, confused and wary. He offered no explanation, taking a swig of his beer and drawing slow circles on her shoulder with a mostly retracted claw. He much preferred how she smelled like this compared to the stink of her terror. Though if it had been _him_ causing her fear, it would probably have been a different story. But the frail was his, and the idea of someone else making _his_ frail so fucking scared pissed him off.

Ayasha could easily tell that her savior was a rough man, not prone to displays of affection or kindness. She could only guess that him continuing to silently hold her was the best way he knew to keep her calm. And as awkward as the bodily closeness was, she couldn't deny that she felt safer now. That made her blush. Necessity had made her independent and self sufficient; wanting someone else to help make her problems go away was an alien, uncomfortable feeling. All the same, she stopped trying to pull away, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position. Victor found the extending silence fairly comfortable, but from the way Ayasha had started to tug at her pant leg he could tell that she was trying to think of something to say. He didn't give a shit so long as she stayed still.

After what seemed like forever, she finally asked, "um, where are we?"

He didn't see much point in keeping their location a secret. Who was she gonna tell? "Mistissini, Quebec."

She stared incredulously. "Canada? The fuck am I doing in _Canada_?" She'd been on a camping trip to Canada once with her grandparents, but that had been a long time ago.

"Fuck if I know," Victor muttered. He was no stranger to secret facilities, medical or otherwise, and he would have known if there had been anything of the sort in the area. However, he didn't know how far the van had been driving with unconscious in the back. There were all kinds of organizations that used mutants for experiments and research. Some were legal and above board, properly compensating the subjects and treating them with respect. There were more of the opposite type. The place the frail had managed to escape was obviously the latter. He knew that he could just as easily left it alone, but he was curious by nature. He also wanted to learn more about the girl's mutation, and whoever had had her locked up was probably the best bet for finding out.

Some of the less powerful empaths that Creed had met hadn't known that they were mutants at first. But they usually had at least _some_ idea that something odd was going on when their abilities came into play. This girl was totally oblivious to the sharpness in the air that she created. One could learn a lot from simple observation, but in this case he knew that it would only take him so far.

But Victor's instincts had served him well over the centuries, and if he had been asked to guess, he would have said that Ayasha's mutation probably allowed her to have some affect on other mutant's abilities. After all, he had never been able to read so much into scent, and smells and sounds almost seemed sharper in a way he couldn't put his finger on. But guessing wasn't enough. He wanted specifics. When he looked down at the frail again, she had fallen asleep, her mouth slightly open and breathing slow and even. Victor chuckled and shook his head at the innocence of her.

000

When Ayasha woke up again several hours later, she was alone on the couch, the sun shining outside and reflecting brightly off the snow. Feeling a bit less like a walking muscle knot, she sat up and stretched. She could see her surroundings a great deal better now. All of the furniture that she could see was older, but in wonderful condition, the slightly battered and scuffed wood polished to perfection. Most of the walls were packed with bookshelves, with another long couch sitting under a window, and two of what looked like early hand drawn maps of North America and Europe.

She lifted a hand to run through her hair, and was with dry tangles and knots. There was even some slight matting on one side that she knew she hadn't gotten from sleeping on the couch, but also didn't want to think about the more likely cause. She made a face and got to her feet, folding the blanket that had tangled around her ankles before walking into the hall. She closed the door behind her before turning on the light and looking at herself in the mirror. "Eeesh!" She made another face. Wherever she'd been held, they obviously knew nothing about caring for textured hair. It was dry, frizzy, and full of split ends. She was struck with the powerful urge to just chop it all off and start over.

No... better wait. Instead, she rummaged quietly in the drawers beside the sink. All she found was a thick comb, but it would have to do. Pulling out the overstretched elastic that she'd somehow managed to hold onto, she went to work. Her mother used to tease her about being tender-headed, and probably would have clicked her tongue and shaken her head yet again to see her daughter struggling with her hair. It took well over half an hour, lots of swearing in two languages—English and a little French—and pulling three large wads of torn hair out of the comb. The matting on one side of her head would have to be shaved off, but she didn't have the tools. She looked at herself in the mirror again, then scowled. She'd gone and used the comb without any thought towards feral mutant it belonged to.

Mutant... Mr. Creed had told her that she was a _mutant_. The idea boggled her mind. She knew that her paternal grandfather had been some kind of psychic, but she had never met him, and no one had ever offered any details. She supposed that it was possible that he could have passed on the genes through his son... But Ayasha had never done anything all that strange.

But then, some people would call a three year romantic relationship with an older mutant girl _strange_. She sincerely doubted that bisexuality was a mutant power. She found herself wondering what her host would think if it ever came up. Men usually all _thought_ the same thing, but some covered it up with babble about the Bible and damnation. There were also those that asked the sex questions. Personally, Ayasha pitied both parties in a relationship where the man couldn't think of a way to have sex with a woman without just putting a penis into a vagina.

She shook her head; this train of thought wasn't getting her anywhere. She'd ask Mr. Creed for some scissors and maybe a trimmer to cut her later. For the time being, she pulled it back into a rough side braid. She washed her face and left the bathroom feeling much more a wake and a bit more clear headed. Her mind still swam with questions and thoughts of course, but they didn't seem quite so daunting at the moment.

Her stomach gave a quiet gurgle of hunger, but she didn't just want to help herself; she was a guest, and wasn't sure how her host liked things. She allowed herself a tall glass of water before wandering over to the stove. When she opened the small door on the side—she didn't know to open the vents first—she was greeted by the blaze of flames and a face full of smoke. Coughing, she quickly shut the door, her eyes watering. "Great job, Aya'," she wheezed, taking several big gulps of water. After the coughing subsided, she started walking along the bookshelves. Her legs and weak and needed exercise; she wasn't snooping.

The books she found surprised her. Aside from the sheer volume of books themselves, she wasn't sure what she'd expected Victor to read, but... All of the classics she'd read in school were there, all old, well-worn hardbacks, and probably a few first editions. There were academic texts on history, psychology, physics and more. There was plenty of fiction, but she had no idea what a good chunk of them were, because they were written in languages from German to Chinese. Ayasha could speak a fair amount of french but the _sheer number_ of languages—and every one looked as if it had been read more than once—was astounding. She was also fairly sure that there were a few volumes written in tongues that hadn't been spoken in centuries. There was a small section of what were obviously journals—all strangely old and leather-bound—that she left alone. They could have been Victor's, and she wasn't about to pry.

She had been an avid reader from an early age, and had always loved older books. The heft of them in her hands, the texture of the binding, the smell of the paper... She leaned in and breathed deeply, the familiar musty smell making her smile despite the thoughts that had begun leaking back to the front of her mind. Little bits of memory had become clear, and she remembered with frightening clarity the way the needles had slid into the crook of her restrained arm. She remembered the way her blood had flowed away from her, and the way a dark liquid had flowed in through a tube in the other arm.

A shudder went through her, and she felt her knees begin to tremble. She swore at the quick mental shift, all her joy from the books draining away. Another, stronger tremble, and she grabbed onto the shelf in front of her for support. Anger welled in her chest, but shook under the force of her growing fear. She was having another fucking panic attack! She dug her nails into the wooden shelf, one of them breaking badly and forming a bleeding crack up the middle. She hardly even felt it.

Blood thundered in her ears, thoughts and half remembered images swarming in her head too quickly for her to process, and her knees started to buckle. The fluctuating sharpness in the air went unnoticed by her. "No, no, no, no, no!" she hissed through clenched teeth. Some part of her was begging for Victor, for the calm that he had offered before. "NO! I _don't_ need him!" She would _not_ run to him every time a memory of her captivity made her anxious or scared. She'd learned how to take care of herself mentally and physically, and she'd be _damned_ if she lost that ability now.

"Breathe!" she ordered herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Then in a softer voice, "breathe, Aya'. Just breathe." In and out, in and out. She forced herself to do it over and over, squeezing out the clamoring thoughts until there was nothing left but a dull hum at the back of her mind.

In and out.

In and out.

Gradually, she slowed her frantic breathing, and her pulse began to follow suit. Slowly, Ayasha uncurled her fingers from the shelf. She swayed for a moment, but after that was fairly sure she had her balance, so she let go. But a residual tremor rolled through her, and proved too much for her weakened body. Her knees gave out and she went down. Big hands grabbed her roughly under both arms, halting her descent. Victor's claws pricked the soft undersides of her biceps as he pulled her up and turned her around. Legs still unable to bear her weight, she instinctively grabbed onto him, hands curling into weak fists around olive drab cotton. He could smell the blood from her cracked nail from beneath the blanket of receding panic. Switching his hold to one arm around her back, Victor put his other hand under her chin and made her look up at him, his eyes scrutinizing her face.

It had been the same cold, desperate sort of panic that had hit her before, and he could still smell it just at the back of her mind; subdued but by no means gone. To be honest, he was surprised she'd been able to pull out of it so quickly on her own, when last time, it had seemed like Victor had been the only thing in the world that was able to calm her. Before he would wonder if he was disappointed that she'd done it without him, he realized that she had slipped his hand and was leaning against him, eyes closed. Her ear was to his chest, listening to his heartbeat again and syncing her breathing to his. Her scent sweetened and her knees stopped shaking. She let out a long, shakey breath, and opened her eyes. She was blushing slightly when she finally looked back up and met his eyes.

Ayasha had never known a gaze so piercing. It was like he was trying to learn everything there was to know about her just from looking, and it didn't seem all that unlikely that he'd succeed. She'd seen that he had blue eyes before, but now with a longer, much closer look, she realized that they were more stormy, the icy blue mixed with flecks of dark flint and pale gray. She had been on a day trip to the ocean once, that had been cut short by a sudden storm. Victor's eyes reminded her of the water when the wind first began to rise and the clouds opened with a clap of thunder. Her blush deepened and she looked away.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I started remembering things about the... hospital... place..." She trailed off and let go of his shirt, sucking on the finger with the cracked nail.

Victor waited for a few moments before taking a half step back. The air around him still prickled with sharpness, but it had stopped its wild fluctuations the second he touched the girl. The whole house had filed with the smell of her anxiety, and he wrinkled his nose. The smell of her blood was there too, sweet and warm. But it wasn't mixed with the terror he was so accustomed to in frails, and it set him strangely ill at ease. He grabbed her hand, turning it over to examine the wound. The crack started about halfway up the nail, the tender nail bed having been spared. He let go, a smear of her blood on his thumb. He made sure that she saw him lick the blood away, showing a flash of fang with his slight grin.

Ayasha couldn't help but jump a little. She suddenly remembered the first time a boy had actually stared at her with interest. It was the only thing she could think of that remotely resembled the gaze in Victor's eyes. The implication made her bite her bottom lip and look down at her feet. She had never been very good where such things were concerned. Not even with Terra...

Victor walked into the kitchen and tossed a box of band-aids at her, cutting through the memories and present awkwardness. She just barely caught it, and pulled one out. "How many eggs you want?" Her stomach growled loudly before she could answer, and he chuckled, smirking at her.

"Three, please..." she muttered. "Thank you." She shuffled over to the big table and sat down as he rifled through the fridge. Victor greasing two massive cast iron pans, filling one with chunks sawed from a huge leg of ham, and after turning on both burners, cracked eight of the biggest eggs Ayasha had ever seen into the second and began to scramble them with a spatula. Neither of them said anything else as delicious smells filled the house, slowly overtaking the stink of Ayasha's panic.


	2. The Fall

_A/N__: Hiya! Here's chapter two! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed! It's super encouraging! So, this chapter is gonna have a lot of plot at the end, bringing more of the Marvel universe into play. Now, I'm trying to have the actual smut stuff take place later, but also make it realistic for Victor, since we all know he's not the most patient of people. If anyone has any tips, feel free to let me know. I'm happy to get constructive criticism as long as it's given kindly!_

_ Please let me know what you think of the story, of how I'm writing Victor, and especially of Ayasha. I've never written a person of color before, and I'm trying to get all the physical details right. It helps to have a physical image to look at. If anyone knows of any pictures of people of black and Native American heritage, please send them my way! One more thing; anyone know some good music that would fit Victor?_

_ I don't own or make any money from Marvel's characters or other name brands that may be mentioned. Sorry for the long author's note! Enjoy!_

TWO:

Creed found that the domesticity of cooking a frail breakfast rankled him. It wasn't like he'd never fed them before, but by this point they were usually too bruised and broken to be around him while he prepared the food. And if they were, they certainly never sat calmly at his table with a fucking contented smile pulling at the corners of their mouth. But that was exactly what Ayasha was doing. She still looked and smelled flustered, and a little uneasy, but she wasn't scared of him. He made her nervous, wary, and a little confused, not frightened; even when he made a point of showing his fangs or claws. The taste of her blood lingered on his tongue, the predator in him wanting more.

He opened a wax paper package from the fridge, started up a third pan, and dropped a thick, bloody steak into it. For some reason, he didn't want to tear into the frail quite yet, and with as sweet as her blood had been, the slab of venison would have to slake his bloodlust for the time being. He let one side sear, then picked it up between two claws and flipped it over, still minding the ham and eggs, adding lots of hot sauce to the latter. He was mildly surprised when the girl made a happy sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

"My mom was French-Creole; I grew up on spicy food," she said with a shrug.

His only response a non-committal grunt, Victor pulled the _very _rare deer steak from the pan to a waiting plate and turned off the burner. He smelled the frail's surprise, and tore a bloody chunk free with his claws before popping it into his mouth. Scooping the ham and eggs onto the other plates, he brought out a gallon of gatorade, filing Ayasha's glass before taking a long drink from the bottle. He got out the flatware and sat down to eat.

"Thank you." He grunted again and focused on his food. They ate in silence contentment pouring off the girl. She used the knife and fork this time, but still ate with gusto; she never thought that ham and eggs could be so delicious. She heard Victor chuckle at her voraciousness, and shot him an almost reproachful glance before returning to her breakfast. She wouldn't be laughed at for enjoying food, dammit. And by god, was she enjoying it. "You're a good cook," she announced when her plate was clean and her glass empty.

He made a small sorting noise and blinked. Then he outright laughed; he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually _laughed_. "Been called a lotta things, frail. Don't think 'good cook' has ever been one of 'em."

She looked almost indignant. "Well you _are_. There's lots of ways to fuck up eggs." She paused. "Um... why do you call me 'frail' all the time? My name's Ayasha. Ayasha Saint-Clair."

Victor was _certain_ that no woman had ever asked that particular question. "You feeling particularly robust at the moment?" he said, raising a brow.

She opened her mouth, paused, and shut it again. "No... I guess not," she admitted.

"Besides, compared to me, pretty much everyone's frail." The fact that she looked even more indignant than before—almost angry—made him smirk. Usually, women were too busy being terrified of him to feel anything else, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about Ayasha's lack of fear. Yes, she was _wary_ of him—he was a big, intimidating stranger—but it wasn't the same thing. "Saint-Clair, huh?" It was an old creole name. "Mother's?"

"Yeah. She never changed hers, and Dad thought that Ayasha Saint-Clair sounded better." She thought those personal details were harmless enough. She may have trusted the feral for the most part, but she still hardly new him. "He had his dad's name. I liked Cloud Runner, though."

_Cloud Runner... _The name seemed oddly familiar, but Victor couldn't place it. And considering how long he'd been alive, he could hardly be expected to remember the names of everyone he'd ever met. He filed the name away for later consideration. That file was growing by the day. He had already put someone on the unknown medical facility and the frail herself, and knew it wouldn't take long for them to get back to him. He may have been a loner, but he had still amassed considerable contacts and assets over the decades; they might as well be put to use. He'd ask about the name Cloud Runner when they spoke again.

If he wasn't fucking Ayasha, he might as well get something interesting and/or entertaining out of the deal until he did. He saw that her cracked nail had started bleeding again, and got to his feet. She made to stand as well, but he pushed her down by the shoulder as he moved behind her chair. "Stay," he ordered.

Ayasha felt the heat of him through the wooden slats of the chair as he passed, and his elbow tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. She caught a whiff of his wild, earthy musk, and was surprised at how pleasant she found the scent. It put her in mind of mountains and decaying pine needles on the forest floor; a predator of some of the world's last remaining wilderness. She didn't understand why her cheeks heated or why something that wasn't quite a shiver rolled down her spine. She didn't look up when Victor paused, keeping her eyes down until he walked back into the hall.

Victor found himself caught between confusion and smugness. He'd smelled the frail's faint flicker of excitement when he'd brushed against her; not quite arousal, but not all that far from it, either. Normally, that would have been a signal for him to see how far he could push the attraction until fear took over. But not just now. He was expecting an important call. He retrieved a first aid kit from the bathroom and brought it back out to the frail. Hell, frails were the only reason he had the thing. Sometimes, even after he broke them, he wanted to keep them around for a while. He made sure that one of his claws brushed Ayasha's wrist when she took the kit from him, and then left again without a word.

His cellphone began to buzz before he even reached his desk. At least Circuit was punctual. "Creed," he answered, closing the bedroom door.

It was a woman's voice on the other end, raspy from years of smoking. "Does trouble find you, Mr. Creed, or do you go looking for it?" Circuit said.

That wasn't exactly what Victor had been expecting. "Little bit of both I guess. Got the girl's last name; Ayasha—"

"Saint-Clair. There weren't any other missing persons matching your very detailed description." There was smug pride in the techno-path's voice. "Ayasha Isadora Saint-Clair, born on the Saginaw Chippewa Reservation on April ninth to parents James Cloud Runner and Estelle Saint-Clair. Graduated university last year, one barely used credit card in her name. Both parents dead ten years ago, no siblings. All pretty ordinary." A pause and the sound of Circuit taking a long pull from her cigarette. "Except there's traces of SHIELD all around her since day one."

The woman had always had a flair for the dramatic that Creed didn't care for, and he remained silent until she continued. "They've never brought her in for anything, or so much as spoken to her on some pretext, even after that mess in New York last year. They've acquired all her school transcripts and every medical record. They even have the shit from when she broke her ankle when she was eight!"

That was _definitely_ not what Victor had been expecting, and it temporarily put wherever she'd been held on the back burner. He'd been expecting some some small time, suedo-company experimenting on mutants. Not fucking _SHIELD_. But they weren't anywhere near as goody-goody as they claimed, so they might have had something to do with it. They usually steered clear of anything to do with mutants, though. "The fuck does SHIELD want with a little mutant frail?"

"No idea. And... the info is... _funky_ some how." Victor growled a warning. "It's all genuine, Creed, don't worry. There's just something off. I'll tell you when I know more. Anything else?"

"Look into her dad's family history," he said after a moment.

"Will do." The call ended with a click.

Victor tapped his claws against the back of the phone, thinking. As easy as it would have been able to scare the information out of her, he doubted that Ayasha had known anything about SHIELD. He'd never really dealt with them, but he knew that they were good at what they did. If they didn't want you to know that they were watching you, you usually didn't. Jimmy would know more about them, but Victor wasn't about to as _him_ any favors. Wade might know something too, but just because Wade thought he knew something didn't mean it was true; saying the kid wasn't right in the head anymore was putting it mildly. Growling, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, and yanked his bedroom door open with a good deal more force that was necessary.

000

After cleaning and bandaging her finger, Ayasha found some latex rubber gloves. She couldn't imagine Victor having any actual dish washing gloves, so these would have to do. Then she gathered up the dishes and started hot water running in the big metal sink. The water heated much faster than it had in her apartment, and she was soon scrubbing at the remains of breakfast. She hadn't had a proper one in a long time, even before the coma. Her job at the local grocery had had her rolling out of bed before the sun, into the shower, and then out the door. There had barely been time for a cup of coffee and a couple pieces of peanut butter toast. She wondered if she should offer to make lunch as a thank you to Victor... She had to do _something_ to make herself feel useful, especially after all the man had done—and was still doing—for her.

She managed to finish the dishes without wetting her bandages, and set them all to dry on the counter. She returned to her seat, but was unable to sit still. She re-braided her hair, and tugged at the damp cuffs of her shirtsleeves. With nothing else to occupy herself, her thoughts turned to Victor. She still wasn't sure what to make of him. She had been trying _not_ to think about the man that had been chasing her. In fact she hardly remembered that night. But she did know that the man was dead, and that he was dead because Victor had _killed_ him. Killed with the same ease she'd use to swat a mosquito. That ease made her certain that it wasn't the first time that the feral mutant had taken a life. Ayasha wasn't exactly a stranger to death an violence, but she had never really been able to completely numb herself to them.

Part of her wanted to be terrified, to feel guilty that the man had been killed because of _her_. But she knew that if not for Victor, the man would have made good on all his shouted threats and taken her back to the needles and tubes and monitors and restraints. Every instinct she had rebelled at that thought, and she knew that she would do anything to avoid that fate. Her own vehemence to remain free at any cost almost frightened her. But Ayasha squared her shoulders and sat up straight. There was no shame in wanting to live, in wanting freedom. And there was no shame in being willing to fight for it.

Not wanting to be pulled back into fear and panic, Ayasha forced herself to think about other aspects of Victor. He'd saved her life, and taken care of her. But everything about him warned of danger, making some small part of her afraid. It was a primal fear, the way a rabbit knew to fear a shadow from above. He looked at her like a predator, like she was prey that he was stalking, appraising, waiting for the best moment to attack. And yet he continued to care for her, feeding her and making sure that her wounds were tended to. He was almost gentle, and it clashed badly with the wildness that clung to him.

And for all her instincts telling her that this man was dangerous, and for her to be as afraid of him as she was of going back to the room, she found his presence oddly calming. He was easily more frightening than any of the fears that currently plagued her, and it was easy to forget that fear when he was close. Even if he seemed to do his utmost to put himself close enough to make her feel awkward and uncomfortable.

Most of the time, that was exactly what happened; Ayasha had never been good with closeness, physical or otherwise. And when he'd moved behind her chair, she was almost certain that he'd brushed against her on purpose, just to elicit a response. It had made her stomach do that stupid little flip-flop... She didn't understand _that_ response at all, and, remembering how annoyingly perceptive ferals could be, she was sure that Victor had somehow noticed.

"For fuck's sake, Aya'!" she growled to herself, scrubbing her hands over her face in a vain attempt to banish the lingering blush.

The low chuckle from the hall made her start and curse as she looked up. She was sure that the smirk Victor was directing her way made the color rush back to her cheeks full force. She looked stubbornly down at the table. "I didn't just want to leave the dishes," she muttered. She felt rather than heard him draw closer, and was able to contain another jump of surprise when his clawed hand reached out and easily gathered up both of her smaller ones.

"Keep 'em clean," Victor said, turning her hands over and giving them a cursory sniff. "No infection. Keep it that way." It would piss him off to no end—beyond being just plain embarrassing—if the frail got an infection and died of natural causes under his roof.

After he released her, Ayasha prodded the scabbed, bruised, and swollen knuckles on her right hand. "Haven't hit anyone like that in a _long_ time," she remarked idly, wincing a little when she flexed her fingers.

"You been in a fight before, frail?" She pulled down the collar of her shirt slightly to show a thick, inch long horizontal scar at the top of her left breast. For someone as seasoned in violence and injuries as Victor, an explanation wasn't really necessary. He half grinned and raised a brow at her. "Someone stabbed you... so you punched them?"

Ayasha rolled her eyes and let go of her shirt. "No, other way around. Some asshole thought it was okay to rip a thirteen-year-old girl's shirt open. I decided he'd look better with a broken nose, and apparently he disagreed." Her tone was even and matter-of-fact.

Victor full on grinned. He was strangely proud of his frail. He wasn't exactly a champion of women, but he enjoyed the idea of Ayasha punching someone for picking on a little girl. "You were what, sixteen?" At her look he added, "that scar is about six years old, and I'd put you at twenty-two."

"Uh, yeah... I was sixteen," she admitted, rubbing the old wound absentmindedly. "My heart stopped three times. I was actually dead for almost five minutes in total."

A shadow flickered across her face, telling Victor that she could still remember the event clearly. He knew that look, and the feelings that went with it. He knew what it was like to feel the world fade away, for the blackness to close over your head. He never thought that he'd meet a frail that he could relate to on any level. And yet here one sat... Little Ayasha Isadora Saint-Clair, who didn't see a monster when she looked at him, who actually fucking _trusted_ him. Little Ayasha, who knew what it was like to die and come back.

He reached out, dragging her collar down again with a claw. She stiffened, but didn't move. It had definitely been deep, and with the likely downward angle, it could easily have hit her heart. The frail was lucky to be alive. The corner of his mouth twitched with a smile; he liked how tough his frail was. She leaned away slightly, and his claw pulled through her shirt like butter. She made a small sound and blushed again, fingering the tear.

"Keep blushing like that, frail, and I might just think that ya want something from me," Victor purred, chucking her under the chin.

Ayasha jumped, but didn't flinch, stealing a glance at him and trying to read his face. She definitely considered him attractive, her chest tightening and stomach fluttering when he touched her. _'He's acting almost like he... _wants_ me.'_ The thought made her want to squirm, but she forced herself to keep still.

Victor could smell it on her; his touch excited her. Her scent was mostly nervous and confused, but the arousal was there all the same. If he did things right, she might actually end up _wanting_ him to fuck her. Now that was a game he hadn't played in a _long_ time. Most frails weren't worth the time; he used them for a fuck—whether they wanted it or not—and that was all. The predator in him stirred at the prospect of a chase. It sounded like fun. Still smirking, he walked over to the wood stove. He opened the vents before tossing several logs onto the bright coals, shutting the door again.

"I was wondering..." it took all of Ayasha's willpower to keep her voice from catching, "if I could maybe borrow some scissors, please?" At his silent stare she added, "for my hair. There's matting and it's a mess and it would be easier to start over. Some trimmers would be nice, too, if it's not any trouble..." She pulled absentmindedly at the split ends of her braid.

Creed shrugged. "Stuff's all in the bathroom; use whatever. Just clean up if you make a mess." He decided that now was as good a time as any to lay down some ground rules. "Same goes for the rest of the house. Closed doors are off limits, but you can go anywhere else. Just clean up after yourself. Understand?"

She nodded quickly, getting to her feet. "Yes, thank you," she said quietly. "I could... I could make lunch later... if you want..." It was about the only thing she could think of to say thank you and to help herself feel at least a little useful.

He made a non-committal sound. "I'll let you know." He turned and went back down the hall, vanishing again behind his bedroom door.

Ayasha waited a few moments before shuffling into the bathroom. It didn't take her long to find what she needed, and she laid it out neatly on the counter. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized the skinny girl that looked back at her. She planned on making herself look even more different. She no longer wanted to look like that girl, the girl that had been trapped in that room for so long... The girl that whoever had put her there would probably be looking for.

000

Victor had returned to the living room and was stretched out on the couch with a newspaper when she reemerged. He looked up and blinked. It was quite a change. She'd shaved away the slight matting on the left side, sweeping what was left over towards the other side. It now hung in choppy layers a few inches below her ear, a stray wisp trying to fall into her eyes. Her Native American blood was even more noticeable now, the new cut baring her long, slender neck. His cock twitched at the thought of biting into it, but it went unnoticed in his loose sweatpants.

Ayasha found herself wondering if he didn't like it, the idea making her oddly uncomfortable. She fidgeted with the torn collar of her shirt, tucking her hair behind her ear. He crooked a finger at her, silently ordering her closer. She hesitated a beat before walking over, stopping at what she thought was out of arms reach. But she'd miscalculated, and Victor grabbed her hip, yanking her closer. He turned her slightly, looking at first one side of her head and then the other. She tried to squirm out of his grip, but his hand tightened, claws pricking her skin and making her squeak. She froze, and her hand dropped to grab his wrist, not pulling or trying to pry it away. She just held it, body tense and eyes watching him warily. The pain didn't bother her—her threshold was quite high—but she didn't know how to react to the possessive way he held her.

He ignored her touch, still considering the change. "Suits you," he finally decided. He retracted his claws but kept his and on her hip. He thought for a moment, dropping his newspaper on the floor. One of his legs had been hanging off the couch, and he used it to sweep Ayasha's feet from under her, at the same time yanking her down onto him.

"Woah!" She hit his broad chest with a solid thump, his arm instantly snaking around her back and pinning her against him. Instantly she was struggling, trying to pull away and panic rising in her scent.

"Calm the fuck down," Victor muttered, hardly noticing her struggles. "I ain't doing anything and yer more tired 'n' ya realize." He pricked her with a claw to make her still long enough to think. And now that she was off her feet and laying down, Ayasha realized that she _was_ tired. Exhausted, almost. She blinked in confusion, sending an accusatory glance over her shoulder at her legs that made him chuckle. "You haven't moved under your own power in at least eight months. You lost muscle, and it's not gonna just come back all at once."

She dropped her head onto him and groaned. "All those years of bike riding... wasted!" She flopped dejectedly to the side. Trying to stave off the flustered blushing she knew was coming, she pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She heard him chuckle again, and this time felt the sound begin and rumble in his chest. She freely admitted that it was a pleasant sound. She really _was_ tired now; too tired to stay embarrassed at the forced closeness, but not so tired that she was unable to enjoy the smell of him. The raw wildness in his scent made her think of all the hours she'd spent in Central Park. They were good memories, and the contented feeling spilled over into association with Victor.

Her scent sweetened with contented fatigue, and Victor stared down at the top of her head incredulously. She was fucking _comfortable_ around him! _Him_! Victor _fucking_ Creed; murderer, rapist, and a plethora of other unpleasant things. True, she didn't know about his past, but he knew that she had at least _some_ idea of how dangerous she was; she'd been aware enough to remember when he killed the man chasing her. She wasn't bothered by his fangs and claws—when they weren't breaking her skin, anyways—or the fact that he was a mutant. Granted, she was one too, but had thought herself a normal human until very recently. Her trust in him wasn't totally blind—she was smart enough to be a little wary of him—but the whole thing still sat strangely. He said nothing, and her breathing slowed and evened as she drifted off.

How could she just fall asleep like that? Wrapped in the hold of a vicious and unapologetic predator? Victor scowled. Frails weren't supposed to make him ask so many questions; it pissed him off. But he liked the way she smelled, and the way her body draped over his. He'd never really seen the point in physical contact before or after fucking a woman. But he wasn't going to fuck this one just yet, and found that the relatively chaste contact didn't annoy him as much as he'd expected. Yes, his cock was half hard at the thought of her naked and writhing under him, but he was strangely content to have her sound asleep on his chest, lost to the world.

Claws retracted, Victor lifted a lock of her shortened hair, rubbing it between his fingers. The jet black hair itself was smooth and glossy, but textured into tight waves. It was dry and slightly brittle even though she'd washed it. Wait... women used conditioner to keep their hair from getting dry and shit, didn't they? It was only by chance that he knew that textured hair required different care. Other than that he was happily unaware of women's 'beauty routines'. But the frail would need things before too long. He didn't want to take her out of the house yet; people were probably still looking for her. He'd have her make a list the next time he went on a supply run.

"Yer a real pain in my ass, frail," he muttered, picking his newspaper back up. She only murmured softly and adjusted her head, almost nuzzling his chest. Victor rolled his eyes and went back to reading.

000

Ayasha wasn't surprised when she woke up alone on the couch. She scrubbed at her eyes and looked around. It was dark except for the fire and a strange pale glow from the kitchen. She blinked and rubbed her eyes again. Victor was sitting at the table with a laptop in front of him, the screen throwing his angular face into sharp patches of light and shadow. It was almost eerie, making him look very much the villain. He looked up when he heard her stirring.

The e-mail he was scrolling through was an overview of all the information that Circuit had accumulated on the girl. The rest was in lengthy attached files. The only other important thing that the woman had been able to dig up was a small financial statement for whatever facility that had been holding the frail. It was a list of mostly just normal medical shit you'd find in any nursing home or non-hospital medical facility. Except for a cocktail of chemicals that neither he or the techno-path had ever heard of. Whoever these people were, they had purchased a vast and continuous amount of something called _Hydronavyn, _and had in all likelihood been pumping it into the frail for the duration of her captivity.

Victor scowled, drawing a claw through one of the many groves on the table. He'd have to get a bunch of blood tests done now. The frail was already emotionally fragile, as much as she fought against it. He didn't need her body to start breaking down because it had become addicted to some drug. There were lots of other things it could have been, but that didn't change the fact that he had to know exactly what Hydronavyn was and what it did. The idea of someone fucking around with his frail's body made him growl again, claws biting into the wood of the table.

"Mr. Creed?"

He looked over, keen eyes easily seeing the frail sitting up in the dark. Sooner or later, after some of the initial trauma had passed, she'd start asking questions. It was easy to tell that she had a sharp, inquisitive mind, and as much as her captivity had scared her, it had also pissed her off. She'd want to find answers for herself whether Victor looked for them or not, and if she thought for even a second that he knew something, she'd demand he tell her. He hid a smirk at the idea of the frail demanding _anything_ from him.

"You ever heard of a drug called Hydronavyn?" He lifted his tumbler of whiskey from the dark and drained the glass.

"Hydronavyn?" Confusion colored her voice and scent. "No... why?" Her tone turned wary, and her brows furrowed.

"Whoever was holding you was probably dosing you with the stuff," he muttered, tension in his jaw. He could smell the mounting fear. "I'll know what it is before too long." His presence was one thing—he didn't have to actually _do_ anything—but he still didn't know shit about actually helping a frail calm down

"You'll need to do blood tests, right?" Ayasha fingered the crook of her arm.

The fact that she was levelheaded enough to ask such a logical question was a pleasant surprise. But it reminded him of another issue and he scowled. He was going to have to find someone he was sure wouldn't tell anyone about him, the frail, or whatever the results were. The trouble was that in Victor's world, almost anyone could be bought, and betraying an ally was far too often only a question of the right price. He made a decision. "I'll draw the blood myself." He knew he had the necessary equipment packed away somewhere, and was already going through the few places he'd be able to send the sample. He could ask Circuit, but she could be bought just as easily as any of the others. Though she _had_ been known to turn down the higher bid simply because she liked the other party better. But she was as self-serving as any of them.

"Do... do you have to do it now?" Ayasha said quietly, interrupting his train of thought. She was clutching the crook of one arm and looking towards the wood stove. She knew that it was important to find out what they'd been injecting her with, but the idea of having more needles enter her skin made her blood run cold.

"Yes, frail, now." He might as well do it now. A cold spike of fear went through her scent as Victor got to his feet. He turned on the main light, watching her blink and rub her eyes. You didn't have to have his sense of smell to know that she was afraid. That was too fucking bad; she'd have to deal with it. "Stay there." After a few minutes of rooting around in his closet, Victor found the box he was looking for.

Back in the living room, he found that Ayasha had moved over to the table, sitting at the end opposite his laptop. She was hugging her legs up against her chest, bottom lip pinched between her teeth. The juxtaposition of her fear and her stubborn insistence on doing what needed to be done reminded him a little of the indignant stares she sometimes shot his way. When he walked over she looked up. "Which arm?" she said flatly, her eyes hard.

Victor sat down across from her and set the kit on the table. He took hold of her right arm, and rolled the sleeve up past her elbow. She extended the limb over the table obediently, but he could tell that she was shaking. He set out the blood collection needles and vials, tying latex band around her upper arm and waiting until the vein stood out in the crook of her arm. He swabbed the area and uncapped the needle. Fighting to keep still, Ayasha looked away as the metal neared her skin, clenching her teeth to keep from whimpering when it entered her vein. Victor snapped one vial into the end of the collection needle, watching the glass tube fill with blood. He did this twice more before pressing a gauze pad over the needle and pulling it out.

The three vials went into an insulated box, Ayasha refusing to look in his direction until she heard it latch shut. Going back to the hall, Victor unlocked one of the closed door, vanishing inside. He wasn't gone long, and Ayasha didn't bother getting up from her seat when he came back, turning the overhead light off again. She secured the folded pad of gauze to her arm with a band-aid, rubbing the area gently. She'd had always prided herself on not being squeamish about needles, and hadn't even blinked the last time she went to an actual doctor for a blood test. Now the idea of them made her shake, fear tightening her chest and making it hard to breathe.

When Victor sat down again, he closed his laptop, pouring himself another two fingers of whiskey. She watched him out of the corner of her eye for a few minutes, always looking away any time his eyes slid towards hers. "So... um," she chewed on her bottom lip, "do you know why I was... there?"

"Prolly something t' do with you being a mutant," he said with a shrug. "People and places that do that kinda shit have been around as long as we have."

"But... if I didn't know I was a mutant, whatever powers I _do_ have can't be all that interesting." Her brows were deeply furrowed, lips pursed and pulled to the side. "There's nothing special about me..."

"If that were true, frail, then SHIELD wouldn't be up to its ass in your business."

Ayasha's eyes went wide, and her mouth worked soundlessly for several moments. "SHIELD?!" she squeaked, voice cracking. "What are you talking about?"

Victor continued to look uninterested as he sipped the alcohol. "They've gone out of their way to get their hands on every record of you there is since the day you were born."

"What?! Why would they—? What could possibly—?" Her fear was trampled into the dust with this new information, her mind reeling. "We're talking about the same SHIELD, right? Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and... and Logistics thing? That SHIELD? The ones that recruited Iron Man and the Hulk? _That_ SHIELD?!"

Victor rolled his eyes. "No, frail, the SHIELD that's dedicated to eradicating all life on earth."

"Don't fucking joke!" Ayasha's hands were fists on the table, her indignation and anger plain on her face. "What the hell do they want with me? I don't have a criminal record and neither does anyone in my family. You said since I was _born_?"

Another sip of whiskey. "Even got a copy of yer birth certificate." Her wild frustration was actually pretty funny.

"What the fuck?!" She threw her hands up in the air. "That makes no... wait." Her face tightened and anxiety flared. "They put me in that room?" she breathed.

"Fuck no. If SHIELD had wanted to hold a little like thing like you, they would have. Half-assing it isn't their style. Besides, they don't usually give a shit about mutants."

"Well if they're so interested in me they could have gotten me out," Ayasha seethed, fingers uncurling before balling into fists again. SHIELD was supposed to be the good guys, preventing bad things from happening. She knew that Victor was right. Any time SHIELD apprehended a mutant, they just shipped them right off to the Mutant Response Division. Had the MRD been the ones holding her? "Do you know where I was?" If he found the place where she'd been held, there would almost certainly be answers.

Victor pulled a face, lip curling. "As shitty as the job they did in holding onto you was, no." The payments had come from all over the country, and the goods seemed to have been delivered to an ordinary office building before being shipped off god-knows-where. The inability to find his target was eating at him. He'd put out feelers in several directions, and all but one of them had come back empty. The last one hasn't come back at all. He growled in frustration, digging small bits of wood out of the edge of the table with his claw.

"I can't go back to New York, can I?" Ayasha said forlornly. "My apartment, my roommates..." She had known people that had had to disappear, and the idea of having to do so herself was not at all a pleasant one.

"They filed a missing person report when you didn't come home after a long weekend. But that was over eight months ago, so the cops prolly think yer dead by now." The hurt that flashed across her face made him uncomfortable. "You fucking one of 'em?" His voice had turned into a deadly purr, dripping with venom.

Ayasha let out a short bark of laughter. "No! Jen and Cynthia are about as straight as it gets. They're great, but they definitely like the boys." Her unease lifted slightly as the poisonous look left Victor's face. "So it's like witness protection? No contact with anyone from my 'old life'?" She may have laughed at the end, but everything that had happened before she woke up in the room now seemed so far away, like someone else's memories.

"Guess you could look at it that way."

She let out a short breath, slumping slightly in her seat. Her mind hadn't been this busy since college, and those thoughts had been much more pleasant in comparison. Try as she might, she couldn't cut through the white noise. She eyed the bottle on the table, considering. "Mind if I steal a drink?" she said. Victor raised a brow, but silently slid it over to her. "Thank you." She took the bottle by the neck and lifted it to her lips.

The burn made her give a quick shudder, and she set the bottle down. She had always been realistic about her family, and knew that she was at a high risk for alcoholism. Before the coma, she hardly ever drank anything, hard liquor practically never. But the warmth that had settled in her throat brought back happy memories; birthdays, girls' nights out where she'd had to wrangle her two much more inebriated friends into a cab. A small smile pulled at one corner of her mouth, and she propped her elbows up on the table, resting her chin in her hands.

"Fucking crazy..." And it was totally beyond her to do anything about it. She had always believed that if you couldn't do anything to fix a problem, then you shouldn't waste energy worrying about it. Ayasha decided that this situation was no different. It was a weight off her overly troubled mind, and she took another swig of whiskey before pushing the bottle back. "I'm not gonna worry," she declared. "Can't do shit about it, so I'm not gonna bother." She missed the look of amusement that flickered across Victor's face, but her eyes lingered on him, and after a moment she spoke again. "Why are you doing all this for me? You've obviously dug pretty deep to have found this stuff... Wouldn't it have just been easier to hand me over to the police? Or SHIELD, for that matter?"

Victor's eyes narrowed. "I'm not givin' up what's mine till I'm good and ready," he growled.

Ayasha's first reaction was to blush deeply, before anger quickly flared in her eyes. What wariness she'd had of the feral mutant vanished and she sat up straight. "I don't belong to anyone!" she burst out.

He was around the table and in front of her before she could react, hand tight around her jaw and face inches from hers. "Say an' think whatever the fuck you want frail," he rumbled, voice dangerously quiet. "You're _mine_, Ayasha, and I ain't giving you up to _anyone_."

It was the first time he'd said her name since she'd told it to him, and the way it sounded in his rough baritone sent hot tremors rolling down Ayasha's spine. Her body went rigid and her breath caught in her throat. Victor smelled the flare of arousal, frustration and anger swirling around it. His claim aroused her, and she was pissed at herself for letting it. He locked his eyes on hers, brushing the clawed tip of his thumb along her plump bottom lip. A small bead of blood welled to the surface, and she instinctively licked it away, the tip of her tongue making contact with the claw for a split second.

Her pulse was racing, but she didn't recoil, her dark eyes staring defiantly back. It was only her most base instinct—prey reacting to predator—that made her tremble; if she'd had any choice in the matter she would have been still as stone. Victor chuckled darkly. He wiped away the second small well of blood, and licked it slowly from the bad of his thumb. Ayasha swallowed hard, her jaw clenched. Something primal—some basic instinct—finally forced her to look away, making her submit to the animal higher up in the food chain.

But even though she had broken eye contact, she maintained her posture, back straight, shoulders back, and head held high. Even her most base animal instinct couldn't make her completely submit to him, it simply wasn't in her nature. It only made Victor find her all the more enticing. He chuckled again, returning to his computer on the opposite side the the table. The girl's face was now swallowed by shadow, but the frustrated arousal still poured off her in waves. A smug expression curved Victor's lips.

After a moment he said something, but Ayasha didn't hear him over the blood rushing in her ears. She shook her head. "S-sorry. What?" she said stiffly.

"Tell me more 'bout this other feral you knew," he repeated.

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Do... do I have to use their name?" Her roommates were one thing. Terra was totally another. And considering the topic of the previous exchange, she was feeling rather reticent abut talking about her ex-girlfriend. But she was also anxious to put the business about SHIELD out of her mind.

Victor smirked. "Depends on what you say."

Ayasha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. She took several slow breaths before speaking. "She was a reptilian feral. She had claws, fangs, and patches of scales, so it was pretty easy for people to tell that she was a mutant." Personally, Ayasha had always thought that the opalescent blue-green scales were beautiful, but it had proved to be an uncommon and unpopular opinion. "She was four years older than me, and we met when I was twelve. She was trying to protect this black alley cat from some kids on Halloween. She could have torn them up, but she hated hurting people, no matter who they where. Victor scoffed. He'd never seen any point in resisting his violent animal urges.

"Anyway, the kids lived in my building. So being the twelve-year-old I was, I threatened to tell on them. They ran off, and she and I became friends. When I was sixteen..." She stopped, frowning slightly and looking down.

Victor could tell she was holding an important detail back, and prodded her with a quiet growl.

"When I was sixteen, we started dating," she said quietly. As much as she owed the man, she still didn't enjoy sharing details about her love life.

Another growl from Victor, this one louder, more threatening, and just the slightest bit possessive.

"We... _I_ broke it off after four years." There was sadness in her voice now. "She wanted something I couldn't give."

"Didn't wanna fuck her?" he sneered.

"No." The memories were sad enough that his jab didn't even bother her. "She loved me, and I couldn't return her feelings. I really liked her, and she said she was okay with just that, but..." Pain and self-loathing curdled her scent. "It's too painful to be with someone, knowing that what they want and need most from you is something you can't ever give them."

Victor felt a tide of jealous rage begin to wash over him, claws digging deep groves in the table. Ayasha was _his_! She wasn't allowed to want anyone other than him! But he could still read her scent as clearly and precisely as ever. There were no lingering feelings for the other feral left in the frail. She was only sad that she'd had to hurt the woman. Some of his anger subsided, but he still despised the other girl for wanting what was his. Eventually, he'd be leaving marks on Ayasha, and everyone would know that she was his.

On some level, he had to admit that the idea of her touching another woman was appealing. But not so appealing that he was willing to share. He didn't give a shit about how she identified her sexuality; she wanted him—even if she wouldn't admit to it just yet—and that was enough.

"I really don't want to give you her name. She was special to me and I won't have her picked up by the MRD." Fierce loyalty burned in her eyes and scent, and the idea of her becoming _that_ loyal to _him_ pacified Victor for the time being.

He shook his head. "Not unless she comes lookin' for ya." The sharp edge to his voice was enough to convey his threat; 'You're mine. No one else can touch you'. The look in his eyes was so plain he might has well have said it out loud.

Ayasha blushed again and shifted uncomfortably. She'd opened up to Victor a great deal more tan she'd intended to, then he'd gone and given her that positively _searing_ look, claiming her again without a word. She had never really liked or bought into the idea of 'belonging' to someone. But the idea of such a powerful and frightening creature wanting her to be his—_only _his—stirred something inside her; thrilled her in a way she couldn't describe. That made her supremely uncomfortable, especially since she could still feel the heat lingering between her legs.

_"Fuck! He can probably_ smell_ that!"_

The idea that Victor could smell how turned on she was mortified her, and she flushed crimson, cheeks and ears burning. She shot to her feet and scurried back to the couch, sitting down and pulling the blanket over head like a hood and shrouding her body in the rest. She shot a quick look back at the table when Victor chuckled. Didn't she realize that only mixing the smell of how wet she was with his own scent from his blanket? It was making her incredibly tempting. But he was enjoying this game.

It had been decades since he'd chased a woman this way; teasing and coaxing her until she wanted him so badly she started begging. With how fucked parts of his memory were, he couldn't clearly remember what it felt like to fuck a woman that actually wanted him to. He knew that he'd enjoyed it, but that was the only sure detail. He drained his glass again, watching the frail with lidded eyes. She was still to shaken for him to get what he really wanted from her, but he fucking hated waiting. He growled, earning a furtive glance.

Deciding a distraction was in order, he said, "you got any living relatives?"

The sudden change in topic put Ayasha off balance, and she frowned. Then, she looked as if she had just remembered something, and anxiety spiked hard in her scent. "My grandmother went missing a month before—" She broke off, looking at him with wide eyes. "It's been nine months now..." She bit her bottom lip, trying to recall the details. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten!

Nana Omi—Ominotago, meaning beautiful voice—had always been an active woman, going on nature hikes and canoe trips well into her seventies. But she hadn't ignored the dangers of aging, and had always taken at least one friend along with her. Ayasha could vaguely remember something that the police had said. "She mentioned a trip to Yellowstone Park to a friend, but never followed up about going together." A few days after that she was gone, along with her car and all her camping and hiking gear. They found her car at the park, and everyone simply assumed she'd just had an accident.

Pain tightened Ayasha's chest. "She was always so careful. She had _never_ taken a trip or a hike alone like that..."

Victor had never been a big believer in coincidence, and the fact that Ayasha's only family had gone missing just a month before she was captured was awfully convenient. Her grandmother would have been the only person to keep any kind of investigation going. Then again, most people didn't pay much attention when black or Native American kids went missing. "Mom or dad's side?"

"Dad's. Her full name was Ominotago Rivers. I called her Nana Omi." Her previous frustration forgotten, she turned to face Victor. "The fact that she called a friend about her trip but never followed up doesn't make any sense, 'cause she always hiked with a buddy." She recounted what she could remember, brows furrowed. "I couldn't really keep anyone looking for long, but the park rangers said that they would—my phone!" Her eyes brightened with hope. "They could have called my cell or Jen and Cynthia if they found anything! Can I—?"

Victor cut her off. "No." He already knew what she was going to ask. "Everyone that knows you needs to keep thinking you ran off or that yer dead." She opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a snarl. "I'll look into it. Ask my contact who dug up all the other information on you. That enough to shut you up?"

Ayasha squirmed, resisting the sudden urge to run over and hug the big man. "Thank you," she finally breathed, offering a weak, but truly genuine smile. She had come to respect Victor's word, and truly believed that he'd do all he could to find everything there was to find about her grandmother. It was a huge relief, and after a small sigh, fatigue crashed back around her. "Thank you," she murmured again, laying down. She would think about the mess with SHIELD and her captivity later. Right now, she just wanted to get back to sleep. Refusing to think about anything other than the warm radiating from the wood stove in front of her and comfort of the blanket and pillow, she eventually succumbed once more to sleep.

Victor rolled his eyes, and opened a new window on his laptop. There had been some strange news lately, and the underworld had been buzzing with equally unusual activity. Now that he had a spare moment, he might as well see what was going on with the rest of the world.

000

Ayasha woke up to the sound of a news broadcast. The house was flooded with light, and the familiar stiffness in her neck told her she'd slept for quite a while. Half sitting up, she saw that Victor was still at his computer, hard gaze riveted on the screen. Had he been there all night? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the look in his eyes was impossible to read. But his jaw was tighter than normal, and he was tapping a claw on his arm. His body language reached through her newly woken haze, and made her both curious and a little worried.

"Mr. Creed?"

Victor only grunted, not looking up. Ayasha frowned. She didn't know what she'd expected, but the lack of response only made her even more curious. Cracking her neck, she pushed herself to her feet. She noticed the chill in the room, and it looked like the fire in the stove had died. Frown deepening, she wrapped the blanket around herself and shuffled over to the table. She hovered hesitantly in front of him, wondering if whatever had such a hold on his attention was something she would be allowed to see.

She could hear the broadcast clearly now, and as the reality of the words dawned on her, Ayasha lunged forward and moved to look at the screen. Her eyes went wide at the images playing out before her, the blanket falling slack and forgotten. The sky above Washington, D. C., looked like a war zone. It was almost as bad as the Battle of New York, but this time it was humans. No outside threat from beyond the known solar system. Three smaller versions of the SHIELD Helicarrier were firing on one another. They were tearing each other apart, falling smoking and burning... and still they kept firing.

"Why...?" She didn't even bother trying to ask; her mind couldn't even fully form the question in her mind.

Her entire ordeal was forgotten as what appeared to be previous footage of Captain America being chased by shield agents flashed in the bottom corner of the screen. Then they were putting him on his knees, restraining him, putting a rifle to his head... It was chaos. Nothing made sense. Wasn't Hydra that crazy Nazi group from World War Two? What the hell did they have to do with SHIELD? Information washed over Ayasha, but it was like watching from outside her own body. She accepted that it was real, that what she was seeing was actually happening, but it was so absurd, so ridiculous that her brain couldn't seem to fully process it.

Victor on the other hand was much more well informed. It seemed that Hydra had been a worm in SHIELD ever since the end of the second World War. Nick Fury—the director of SHIELD—had found out, and been killed for it. He'd told that Goody-goody, Steve Rogers, before he'd kicked it, though, and Rodgers had pulled out all the stops to make sure that the truth came to light. Victor had met the Captain once, along with Jimmy during the war. Rogers hadn't cared that they were mutants, but all his talk of honor, of the good and the right, had just annoyed Victor. Jimmy—Logan, had liked him well enough though.

If that was all it had been, Victor wouldn't have cared. But the fact that Hydra had been a part of SHIELD almost from the beginning could pose a problem for him personally. Hydra could have been behind the frail's captivity, and with their secrets pouring out onto the net, they'd be doing everything they could to tie up and silence loose ends. And if Ayasha was one of those loose ends... He closed the laptop sharply, making the girl next to him jump. She stepped back, and he felt her watching him as he got to his feet. He looked down at her, considering. Her quick mind had probably come to a similar conclusion, and there was panic in her eyes.

He grabbed her by the chin, more gently than he had last night, leaning down to stare at her. "This changes_ nothing_, frail," he said. "Whatever-the-fuck is going on, yer still mine, and _no one_ takes what's mine. SHIELD, Hydra; doesn't fucking matter." What did matter, was how the hell she got away if Hydra/SHIELD had been involved.

Ayasha was too stunned for his claim to fluster or anger her. The idea that a group smart enough to infiltrate and remain hidden in SHIELD for decades might be the ones who'd imprisoned her sent all her attempts not to worry diving out the window. She reached up with a shaking hand and touched his wrist. She opened her mouth, but had no idea what to say. The now familiar sensation of anxiety and panic was rising, tightening her chest. Her heart was pounding, her breath quickening and turning shallow. The panic was rising up to swallow her, to pull her back into hopelessness.

Then Victor had a fistful of her hair and was pulling hard. "You said you couldn't do anything about it," he snapped, locking their eyes. "Just because SHIELD got its shit fucked doesn't change anything. I'm still not letting you go, and you gettin' yerself all worked up still isn't gonna do shit, so calm the fuck down."

And just like that, the shock slowly began to fade. Ayasha's hand left his wrist and stretched out to his neck. Victor almost slapped the hand away; he was so used to enemies going for the throat. The frail just laid her fingers over his pulse, pressing gently until she could feel every beat. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and the panic left her scent. They stood there for several moments, with nothing but the sounds of their breathing. When she dropped her hand, Victor let go of her, and she took a half-step back.

"You're right," she said. She had calmed, but her voice was still tight. "I'm not going to be some fuckin' delicate flower that falls apart under pressure." Dark steel flared in her eyes and changed the set of her jaw. She looked downright stubborn now. "I'm going to keep fucking living, and anyone that wants to fuck with that can go fuck a cactus." She spun on her heel, and walked serenely into the kitchen. She was hungry, and she was going to eat. If the laughing mutant behind her had a problem with that, he could go fuck himself.

Last night, that particular phrase might have put all kinds of dirty thoughts in her mind. But at the moment, she was too fed up with the world trying to fuck over her life. She opened the fridge and stared into it. "You got plans for that gargantuan amount of ground beef?" she asked, pointing to the massive mixing bowl covered in saran wrap.

"Not as long as yer gonna cook all of it," he said, still grinning. He liked her attitude, and even more, her colorful 'descriptive phrases'.

"Depends." Ayasha retrieved a footstool and opened one of the food cupboards. Victor walked into the kitchen as she rummaged, watching her as he leaned against the counter. After a few moments, she stepped down and returned to the counter with her arms full. He watched her set down several large boxes of spaghetti pasta and a host of bottled spices, most of which were almost empty. She looked up at him. "Do you have any tomato sauce?" He silently retrieved a massive tin can from the top shelf. "Awesome, where do you keep your can opener?" The business-like tone was both annoying and amusing.

One of his fangs had snagged on his bottom lip, and it remained as he reached out, extending his claws. Ayasha's eyes widened slightly, but the spike of fear most frails got was absent from her scent. Victor carved open the can as if it were made of wet paper towel. He peeled the lid back and licked his claw. He watched as the girl busied herself with food preparation. She bustled around the kitchen, getting out bowls and what few measuring implements he had. He'd been around long enough to learn how to cook a great number of things, but usually didn't care enough to do anything. It became clear that she was intending on making a massive amount of spaghetti and meatballs.

She started with the sauce, pouring it into a pot over a low flame. She tasted it as she seasoned, splitting her time between that and seasoning and shaping the meatballs. She moved around Victor easily enough, but he eventually left the kitchen with a few beers, watching over the island counter from the table. She had said that she wasn't going to worry about SHIELD or Hydra, and she was clearly very focused on her cooking. But Victor could see the tightness in her jaw and the stiff way she kept her head up, refusing to be beaten down.

It was a curious thing. Even if she was a mutant, she seemed so fucking human. She was fragile, she cried and panicked. But she saw how useless the worry was and forced herself to rise above it, whether she was emotionally prepared to let go or not. She saw her very human weaknesses and refused them, denied them so totally that they almost fell away. But it was all still there. Victor could smell it all just beneath the surface. It was probably a constant effort to hold it in.

He almost couldn't understand how she managed it. He had never really been able to control the feral, bestial side of his nature when he was young, and as he grew, he decided there wasn't much point in it. Yes, he could be civil when he had to, but the idea of pushing down the mind and body's natural reactions and urges was strange to him. It was one of the few things he failed at. He'd seen Jimmy try to do it all his life, and had ridiculed him for it.

But he felt something strange—maybe admiration?—when he saw the frail's strength of will at controlling herself. Her complete and utter refusal to give in to her human weaknesses, while still remaining so very human... He _liked_ it. And the domesticity of her cooking for the two of them didn't feel nearly as annoying to him as it had before when he'd cooked breakfast.

Victor grinned to himself. _"Feisty little frail."_ He reopened his computer and closed out of the broadcast. He might as well gather what information he could. People like him didn't get by for so long in life by ignoring massive events like this.

000

It had been smelling delicious in the house for quite some time. Ayasha was boiling the pasta and had stirred the meatballs into the sauce. Victor silently rose and swept back into the kitchen. He hovered behind her before leaning in, pressing his chest to her back and making her jump. "You done yet?" He stuck a finger into the bubbling sauce and she squawked at him.

"You'll burn yourself!" He just raised a brow as he sucked the tomato and meat sauce from his finger. It tasted as good as it smelled. Ayasha pressed her lips together and pulled them to the side. She tried to hold the look, but a smirk broke through and she shook her head. "It's almost done. You don't have a strainer, do you?" Victor gave her a 'what do you think?' look. "Thought not." She turned off both burners and eyed the massive pasta pot. It was a big, two handled thing, and getting to the stove while full of water had been hard enough.

Victor decided she was taking too long to come up with a solution, and decided to do it himself. He easily lifted the heavy pot, draining the water and setting it back on the stove. When Ayasha just stared at him, he bared a fang and nodded at the other pot. With a little sigh, she started spooning meat and sauce onto the noodles. She'd already laid out the plates and silverware and piled one dish high with spaghetti and meatballs. As she dished up her own, much smaller, portion, Victor took his too the table and sat down. He was already eating when the frail joined him with a glass of milk and slightly smug smile on her face.

Whether she was more happy with how the food turned out, or with herself for succeeding in keeping her panic in check, he couldn't he sure.

000

_ A/N: There's the second chapter! Sorry it's a bit shorter than the other one, but that just felt like a good place to end it. Please, tell me what you think. I love when people favorite and follow a story, but reviews make my day! Oh, and if anyone wants to beta for me, or knows someone that would like to, let me know. I know not a lot of people wanna read OC stories, so finding a beta reader has been hard. Anyways, till next time!_


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